Consequences
by HazelMalfoy88
Summary: Harry is falling. Falling into a world of lonliness and depression with only his thoughts as company. Who will be the one to save him and teach him new ways to cope with the stresses of his abnormal life? CONTAINS EATING DISORDERS, ABUSE AND SELF INJURY.
1. The cost of distant memories

**Disclaimer- Unfortunately, I do not own the world of Harry Potter, I'm just borrowing the characters to make up my own little world :D**

**Warning-Contains eating disorders, abuse and self harm! Don't like don't read!**

He stared at the plate across from him and felt the all too familiar twist in his stomach. He stared at it just long enough for the sickness to pass and to give him time to swallow before he sighed and walked over to where it lay on his bedside table.

It was the summer before sixth year and Harry had been at the Dursley's for exactly 18 days so far. Usually he'd be looking forward to returning to school and in a way he was, there was just that inexplicable feeling of emptiness that wouldn't allow him to look forward to anything or care about anyone. He couldn't help it and he wished with all his heart that he could be bothered to write back to Ron or Hermione but he just couldn't muster up the strength. He hated having to lie to them so just not writing at all would solve that problem. They would only fuss, asking him how he was and what he was up to... Harry smiled at the thought of his friends but then the answers to those questions came crawling back. The real answers: not the lies he would invent to keep them happy.

He jolted back to reality and Harry realised he had been standing beside his bedside table with his mouth gaping open. He quickly shut it, grabbed the plate of food and ran to the bathroom where he promptly threw the lot into the toilet and flushed the chain. Good riddance.

He could faintly hear the Dursley's downstairs enjoying their meal. He heard his Uncle Vernon laughing along with Dudley, whilst Aunt Petunia fussed over whether they had enough roast potatoes. Personally, Harry thought Dudley and Vernon had probably eaten enough roast potatoes to keep Hagrid full for life but who was he to judge?

His thin arm reached out for his door handle just as Dudley came crashing up the stairs. With a thud, he hit Harry square on the chest before thundering into his room, grabbing his new laptop and rushing back down the stairs, not forgetting to hit Harry once more on his way back. It was a new rule that Dudley was allowed the laptop at the kitchen table whilst eating his meal.

"Well, he may as well get the use out of it, it cost enough!" his Uncle would say.

Harry found this statement neither true nor fair. Harry got nothing; he wasn't even allowed to sit around the table with the 'family' at mealtimes because of the problems he brought along with him. Instead of helping him though, they shut him in his room all day and locked his owl in the garden shed. Harry didn't really care though, this was no problem compared to the internal battle he fought everyday and if he was honest, he'd rather be in his room, alone, than be downstairs whilst his supposed Uncle hurled verbal and physical abuse at him. He still had the bruises covering his left leg from the last time he hadn't washed a dish to Petunia's standard.

He did wish he could get out of the house completely though, but this was physically impossible due to the new bolts and locks on every exit out of the house and unless he wanted another ministry hearing, he would have to lay off opening them by magic.

His stomach grumbled as he strode across his room to his window. He closed the curtains as he knew only too well what Dumbledore was like and wondered if Mrs Figg was staring at his silhouette even now. He switched off the light as he flopped onto his bed with the weakness of a dying man and through the silence he could hear his painfully slow heartbeat.

All too soon the darkness had encroached upon him once again and he was preparing himself for those thoughts. The thoughts that crept up at him and enveloped his body with a numbness so deep, he thought he could never feel again. Physical and emotional pain merged into one and confusion swept through Harry's still body. This time. Always this time: too early for it to be classed as night time and yet too late for the setting sun. It was this time, where dinner was finished downstairs and the lengthy silence began, that Harry had to be at one with his mind. This terrified him but he couldn't stop his thoughts. Not even if his life depended on it. The pain. The guilt. The pressure. The horror that had transformed his life from the childlike beliefs that only one so young can possess, into the nightmare world with wrong turnings at every exit. Wasn't the mind supposed to be a safe haven? A place for the most secure among us, to be at peace and think about insignificant happenings. A place he himself used to visit frequently before the world crept up on him and his naivety caused so much destruction and misery. It frightened him to think that he could not control his own mind and a shiver made its way down his spine. His mental state would never be that of a normal sixteen year old. Not now, after everything he had been through.

How could he have let so many people suffer for his sake? The people who had died in his name crept to the surface of his memories and the notion almost choked him. So much pain and hurt. The vivid image of crimson blood drenching his left arm resurface once again: as it always did when he thought about the pain he had inflicted on others. The only thing that stopped him now was the voices he heard in the cosy living room downstairs. It reminded him that there was someone there, someone to catch him in the act perhaps or hurl abuse at him for bringing yet another problem into their happy little lives. And yet Harry lay there, lost and forgotten, as always.

Maybe he was just a 'problem'. He could feel himself shutting the closest people in his life away and yet he was powerless to cease. It was as if someone else was acting him out: he definitely didn't feel like Harry anymore. He had disrupted everyone's lives without intention but the guilt was still overshadowing him. People had stopped trying to communicate with him and instead looked at him as if they had seen a ghost before backing away slowly. Was this due to his appearance? It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't looked in a single mirror in weeks, but the fear of what he might see prevented him from doing so. It was his reflection that had first triggered a simple desire within him with the ultimate goal that people would notice a change in him and feel like they could approach him because he looked much better. Was that even true? Would it actually make him look better or more approachable? Probably not. But even with this in mind he couldn't think about food without wanting to hurl. The stress, surprisingly helped as it made him feel physically sick and so food obviously wasn't a good idea anyway. Harry felt he had justified that slight problem a little and could feel the motivation stamping out his hunger pains. One less thing to worry about for now.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes and felt the heaviness of his eyelids. Tiredness just snuck up to him when he least expected it. He rarely had energy anymore and he couldn't remember the last time he felt the wind in his face or the flush of his cheeks. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time he had truly smiled. He tried smiling now as if it would make him feel that little bit happier but as suspected the attempt failed and his face felt distorted from the effort of keeping the grin in place. He let his face fall into its natural state as he pondered on why he insisted on being alone. He had Ron and Hermione and they were there for him no matter what, but for some reason he was pushing them away and the fear of losing them took a hold of his heart for a second before he remembered that he didn't care anymore. Being their friend only put them in danger and Harry felt it was either sooner or later that something dreadful would happen to one of them, or possibly both of them. His presence had that effect on people.

As Harry lay there, silent and unmoving, the urges to cause physical pain in order to suppress his emotional pain were so incessant and oppressive. It was as if his world was running in slow motion and everything and everyone else were moving too fast for him to keep up. The distant humming of voices downstairs blended into a rhythm that seemed lost to Harry, as if he couldn't quite grasp the concept of taking the time to listen to individual words. He coughed so as to break the miserable silence that surrounded him in his box-like room and listened as the sound appeared to echo around him. It was this sharp turn into the reality of sound that made him aware of his physical body and the sting in his arm was enough to let him know that unbeknownst to him, he had been digging his fingernails sharply into his skin, just enough to break the surface and for the red raw flesh underneath to shine through. The familiarity of this act made the fear anyone else would feel dissolve into feelings of comfort and ease and a sense of relief washed over him. He knew he was walking on fire and sooner or later the burn would slowly reach him and overtake him but for now it was just a harmless way for Harry to relieve everything that was piling up on top of him. Just a harmless way...

**A/N: What did you think? I was worried I was moving the storyline a bit fast but you have to be introduced to the things Harry is facing in the first chapter in order for it to progress. Rate and review guys ******** I could do with the support to carry on with chapter 2! Let me know if you want any characters adding or if you think Severus and harry mentor would be a good idea for this story. Thanks ******


	2. Escape

**Disclaimer- JK owns everything, lucky cow :) I'm just using the characters to give you lot a second chapter :D**

**Yepp thats right chapter 2! Sorry it took a while, ive been busy busy busy **

**Hope you enjoy it kids :) **

He sat scrunched up with his arms around his bony knees feeling the spray of the water against his bare back. His eyes flickered back to the razor that was resting in the plughole, the blood still being washed away by the stream of water. This immense feeling was euphoric and gave Harry a purpose. It was something that got him through his days, something that gave him control, something that smashed into his numbness and allowed him to feel. He lay back enjoying this momentary pleasure but knowing it would be only too long before he reached out, wanting to feel again. The throb in his arm was fresh and he held it up under the running shower. The light of the bathroom bounced off the thin scars so that they showed white; the deeper ones, purple and the most recent ones, crimson. The blood flowed from his forearm to slither away down the plug and out of sight.

Harry was proud. He had realised that he had learned not to take this too far but still gain the sense that he was somehow alive inside. The cuts were deep, yes, but not so that his life would slowly ebb away. "Yes," thought Harry, "I'm in control." He knew how ridiculous he must sound but this did not prevent him from feeling that he was finally in control of his life. By now the blood had stopped flowing and the broken skin on his arm was all that was left, along with a familiar, comforting sting Harry was sure would last him most of the day, possibly even till tomorrow, that was, if his Aunt, Uncle or cousin would leave him alone.

He dried his body and roughly, his hair before putting on a clean pair of boxers and jeans. He draped his towel over his arm for one simple reason; to cover his scars and cuts as he walked to his bedroom.

A fresh slice of grapefruit lay on a plate on the floor. This was his breakfast and realising he hadn't eaten anything since the half a banana yesterday morning, Harry picked it up and brought it to his lips. The taste brought a lump to his throat and a queasiness to his stomach that was nothing to do with the bitterness. He felt weakened and with the anger that was caused by this, he hurled the fruit out of his open window with all the strength he could from his frail body.

"BOY!" He heard from the kitchen. It was his uncle and he was enraged, as usual. Harry could see that purple vein that always stuck out whenever his uncle was angry even now. He was past caring what he had supposed to have done, past caring why his new name was all of a sudden 'boy', past caring why that that word was always followed by shouting, screaming, punching...

He threw on a top and jacket and walked carelessly down the stairs, dragging his feet as if this would prevent what was about to unfold. He paused to take a breath when he reached the bottom and looking at the family portrait of Vernon, Petunia and Dudley with disgust he entered the kitchen.

"Yes?" Harry asked; his voice lacked emotion and this angered Vernon further.

"Yes what?" He spat.

"Yes, _Uncle Vernon_?" was Harry's reply, he emphasised the name as if it was something distasteful in his mouth.

"It's about time you learned some respect boy, you treat this place like a hotel after we feed you and clothe you! It's absolutely disgraceful and I will not stand for it, you hear?" He was edging closer to Harry all the time, bringing up past arguments so as to have more of a reason to be angry with him.

"Yes Uncle Vernon, I hear, what did you want?"

"You mean to tell me you don't know what you've done? You have some nerve boy, waltzing down here with that guilt in your eyes and then lying to my face!" His hand grabbed the hood of Harry's jacket whilst the other one was curled into a fist and shoved right up in his face. Vernon let go for a moment before hitting him with all his might. The pain seared in Harry's right shoulder; he'd never felt pain like it, he winced and this was enough satisfaction for Vernon to start shouting again.

"Well I'll tell you what you've done! That bloody bird of yours is gone! Nowhere to be seen, and the shed door? Just left swinging open! Are you that stupid to set the pigeon free and think to yourself, 'Oh, I'll just leave the door wide open, that way they'll never know!' What were you thinking?" His fist was back in Harry's face again but, Harry, being familiar with this act spoke smoothly and firmly.

"I have no idea what you are going on about Vernon, I haven't seen Hedwig since you locked her up in there and if my owl has gone then I'm going to do everything in my power to get her back."

By now Vernon was seething and spit sprayed into Harry's face. His grip tightened on Harry's shoulder until his fingernails were digging right into the bone but still Harry maintained a straight face, he was used to physical pain and in a way it didn't bother him. Vernon pulled Harry towards him and shouted, "LIAR!" before throwing him against the wall. Harry's head banged into the door frame and the last thing he saw was Vernon slamming the back door shut and leaving him there. He felt a trickle of blood run down his forehead before his eyes gave up all together and blackness overtook him.

..................................................................................................................................................................

He awoke several hours later with the daylight from the kitchen window lighting up his face. He squinted in the brightness and felt the dried blood crack on his forehead. Every muscle in his body was aching and he fell back on his first attempt at standing up. Once he was stood he felt the throb of his fresh bruises and the dull pain in his head. This had happened more times than he could count, the only difference this time was, Harry genuinely didn't have a clue what Vernon had been saying about. He reflected on the argument in confusion, his head distracting him from logical thought until he remembered Hedwig was missing and somehow that was his fault even though they clearly knew where he had been and when for the past 19 days.

He leant on the table top, ignoring the pain this movement caused in his shoulder and neck. The house was eerily quiet, as if it had been unoccupied for days on end, however the atmosphere was still thick with tension and anguish. He walked over to the living room window and peered out to find the car gone. A house to himself?! The relief was momentary but adrenalin flooded through his veins at the thought. This was it, his chance to break free from all of this and escape the clutches of number 4 Privet Drive. He didn't have long.

He was halfway up the stairs before dread and realisation hit him. He couldn't get out of the house, and he definitely wasn't going to jeopardise his place at Hogwarts by using magic to open the bolts on every door and window. Still, in this rare, hopeful mood it couldn't hurt to try the doors. He did remember Vernon slamming the back door but he couldn't recall him actually locking it. Maybe just this once he had forgotten. Walking slowly so as to cherish this burning desire within him, something he hadn't felt in a long time for the reason that he just didn't feel at all much anymore, he reached the back door. With a sigh he turned the handle. It was then that the most amazing sound reached his ears, the awaited clicking of the door as it swung open.

The breeze was gentle on his face and he breathed in the rich oxygen realising that this was the first time he had been outside in nearly three weeks. His hair ruffled slightly in the wind and he stepped out and walked lazily towards the shed, the door still wide open. He was aware that the whole cage had been taken, nothing else, so Hedwig hadn't been set free at all but was still in her cage somewhere. He hoped that someone he knew had taken her; Harry knew that the order were watching the house day and night and it wouldn't have surprised him if they had overheard Vernon shouting at his confused being.

With these thoughts running through his mind he ran in the house and up the stairs. He dragged his trunk out from under the bed and started piling everything he owned into it; clothes, robes, shoes, bags, books, wand etc. After he was satisfied he had everything he ran into the bathroom and grabbed his wash bag and trusty razor, not forgetting to splash water on his face to clean away the dried blood. Once everything was in place and his razor was tucked into a side pocket of a pair of old jeans, he shut his trunk and locked it. It banged on every stair on his way back into the garden and he ran back into the shed once more, picked up his broomstick and went back to sit on his trunk to think through how he was going to do this.

Darkness was fast approaching with the evening and the sun was setting low over the clouds. The Dursley's could be back at any moment so he had to be quick, despite the knock to his head causing much confusion still. The Knight Bus was always an option and it looked as though that was going to have to be the answer; he could think of no other way right now and his head was aching.

He stood up arching his back and carried his trunk and broom over to the back gate at the bottom of the garden. Placing his possessions over the gate he climbed up and over and felt the relief wash through him. He was blazing inside and he had never felt so energised, except, perhaps at the beginning of a quidditch match. He smiled as he walked, trailing his trunk with his broomstick under one arm, thinking of quidditch and Hogwarts.

He sat on the pavement trying to remember the wrist movement for calling upon the Knight Bus when he heard a rustling in the trees behind him. Fear swamped his body as he turned his head but what met his eyes only surprised him. The silhouette of a man with long, black hair and a hooked nose.

"Potter."

**A/N: Hope that was ok for you :D A bit dark and drastic eh? Tell me what you thought, maybe I'm putting too much into it? Any feedback is good feedback but no flames please :) **

**Thanks to my reviewers! – animehphantom, speckled girl, mimaindi, makostarr, xxBrokenxxAngelxx & assassinatorgirl**

**Please keep reading and reviewing! The support goes a long way and helps me update faster**

**Thanks xx**


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